Whipped
by romanceisdead69
Summary: Gift fic. Asami Ryuichi has never been an easy man to tame. Damn near impossible in fact. So why has he found himself settled into a state of domesticity with one Takaba Akihito? One who only seeks to contradict and defy him at every turn? The man's feeling unloved, and he wonders just when it was he had become so whipped. Warnings apply.


**Hello all,**

**So ~ my first gift fic ~ hope you like it, you can find Sunflower1343's story 'Just Sex' (which this was kind of inspired by) on LJ and A03, there are also a few other inspirations for this but they are noted at the end if you care. I have no idea what the response will be to this, I can only hope my words portray everything and the subtext shines through. But I dunno. Everyones got opinions of what makes our boy's IC or not...**

**Set around a year from right now in Canon and as if they never get to have 'that talk…'**

**I hope you like it!**

**Sorry for any mistakes, I'm so sleep deprived I'm about ready to jump out a window. **

**Warnings: Swearing, Minor Violence, Het.**

**}xXx{**

Just when did Asami Ryuichi become so whipped?

It all started late last night. At the penthouse where Asami had to leave the club early after getting a call from a rather distressed PI, the one who had tailed Akihito to a secret meet between two of the biggest Yakuza clans in Tokyo. The ones who were about to off the two customs officers that had infiltrated their groups and were about to blow the top wide open on their illegal, global operations. Asami had known, of course he had but he hadn't cared, every little dirty deed happening in Tokyo not worth his time or attention until of course his foolish little lover decides to stick his cute button nose in. Because that's what he is. Lover. Whether they both acknowledge it or not, neither of them have taken another and both return home each night to embrace and make love until the sun threatens to rise. Asami wonders when he had become so whipped, when it was that he had stopped craving, carnally, the thrill of seduction. Why the seduction of one young man, the same young man every night had become enough. And why he doesn't find some sweet new young thing to fuck every next night in a hotel suite, like he used to.

The infallible mans trail of thought is soon interrupted though, by the wild spitting, hissing creature currently let loose in his living room. Untameable and free. As much as Asami would like to leash him. He rounds the corner, the first thing catching his eye the red, irate face of his Akihito berating an exasperated Suoh, the guard pulled off his duty at the club to go and retrieve the kid before he was caught by the gangs. The men not past gouging out any prying eyes, with pleasure. The boy turns to him, accusing eyes wide and fierce as always, fixing Asami with a heated gaze as he demands an explanation. Him. And Asami finds himself bored, not bored of the boy but rather, of this conversation, this routine. It's the same, same situation with the same words, the same angry sex that follows. Just when had the pair of them become so predictable?

Those thoughts, this scene. He sighs, finding himself tonight, not in the mood.

"Suoh, go home for the night…"

With a bow the stoic security guard withdraws from the apartment, leaving Akihito to hyperventilate while Asami loses his briefcase, jacket, vest and gun holsters. Setting them all down on the couch and feeling a little listless. He can feel those eyes on him still, can feel the frustration rolling off Akihito as he moves off to pour himself a drink in the kitchen, not wanting to sit down to dinner yet. He sighs, wondering why he, Asami Ryuichi is subject to the whims of a twenty four year old idealist who hasn't got the first clue about the real world. The world that Asami lives in where there are no second chances and your life can be snuffed out without a thought. Just look at the last man he had killed, for Akihito as it happens. He had shot the fucker until his clip was empty.

Which begs the question.

Just how many times would Akihito have died already, if it weren't for Asami stepping in?

A presence behind him catches his attention, Akihito leaning against the door frame, arms crossed. Confrontational.

"What the hell Asami? Those police guys were gonna get killed-"

He says, acting like it's Asami who's in the wrong. Demanding that Asami let the boy make himself a target for these gangs, gangs that are nothing like him, nothing like Fei Long. These lowlife gang members have no moral code when it comes to mere people they just see as merchandise, he doesn't understand just what they'll do to anyone threatening them. The idiot doesn't realise he could have died, easily, a hundred times over and it's like he doesn't want Asami to care.

Maybe he shouldn't.

"Why aren't you saying anything?"

Asami sighs again, reluctantly turning to face Akihito only to find him blocking the door on purpose. Not a wise move right now. Just looking at him tonight for some reason is making Asami agitated.

He thinks it's better if he isn't around the boy, maybe it's better if he goes to work in his study for a few hours until he's cooled down and Akihito is in bed and his mood can dissipate as quickly as it takes to set his eyes on his lovers peacefully sleeping form. As it usually does. The problem is though that the kid is still blocking the door, stood poised with all the false bravado he can muster and looking defiantly up at Asami. Questioning him silently.

"Akihito, I'm not in the mood for one of your tantrums. Move. We'll talk about this later."

He starts forward, needing that to be the end of it before he does something he'll regret. He doesn't know what. All he knows is that whatever's started to coil within him, it's only getting tighter. Ready to snap at any moment and without warning.

The tension in his body keeps him rigid as he bumps past Akihito, the boy understandably taken aback by the man's clenched hands, jaw. The fact he's poured twice as much Whiskey into his tumbler than usual. He hesitates, deciding soon though that he has just as a right to get his answers after having yet again a potentially huge job taken from him. He struggles to keep up, Asami picking up the pace to get to his study so he can lock the door and shut out these warring emotions for a time.

But Akihito, of course. Won't quit.

"A-Asami! Wait up!"

He lightly tugs at the shirt at the mans flexing bicep, missing how Asami balls his free hand into a fist and only walks faster. This isn't even about the stakeout anymore, he knows. For some reason it's everything.

"What the hell is up with you, why're you being like this?"

Just a few more metres, just a few more steps.

"At least tell me why-Asami!"

Akihito's catching up, matching his strides. He feels himself slipping.

"You can't keep controlling me and pretending like-!"

With an almighty smash the tumbler of whiskey careens into the hallway wall, whiskey cascading down it as shatters, fine crystal raining onto the floor until the usually impeccably clean surface is glistening with either alcohol, ice or sharp crystal shards. Akihito winces, not having time to do much before he's slammed against the wall, an arm at his chest pinning him in place as Asami stares down at him. Eyes furious and finally lost to anger. He shunts the boy harshly once for good measure, the air being forced from Akihito's lungs as he tries to take shuddering breaths, eyes inexplicably tearful from shock. Panic. Asami's never been like this before.

He hisses in the photographers face, incensed. No one has dared to fuck Asami Ryuichi around like this before, no one. Akihito has no fucking clue. Just how long will he let himself be strung along like this? How long will he be subject to this boy's foolish ideals? Too long. It's been far too long already.

Asami makes sure the boy is looking into his eyes, that he's hearing every word and seeing his rage. Akihito needs to know how lucky he is in this moment that Asami isn't a more violent man.

"No Akihito. I have every right to control you, you're mine. But I don't really, do I? Little idiot. I just don't let you stupidly waltz to your death, and that's my fault is it? Don't you think, Akihito, that it's high time you got the fuck over yourself?"

He shunts him again, harder. Akihito's rough breaths and tears not doing anything to relieve the mans irritation. only increasing it and he lets him go, turning on his heel without a word and slamming the study door shut and making the walls shake, turning the lock with a trembling hand and leaving Akihito to sink down the to the floor in the hall, a crumpled, gaping mess.

Asami doesn't know how long he stands by the door in the study, not even bothering to turn on the light while his heart pounds in his ears, adrenaline coursing through his veins. For that's one thing about Akihito, he's always managed to draw out the stronger emotions in Asami. The irrational, passionate and yes sometimes gentle emotions but now. Now he thinks if once again provoked, he knows he might hit him. Or worse.

He moves to the cabinet, a vintage whiskey and stack of tumblers already waiting for him, it's fine without ice, he thinks. He can easily do without it. Knowing it's better is he keeps himself in here at least for now, until his limbs stop shaking at least.

Out in the hall Akihito sobs, once, twice, trying to calm his nerves after the night had somehow managed to escalate so quickly and without reason. He doesn't know what had happened, not really. Doesn't comprehend how it somehow didn't follow the usual formula, the usual order of events for one of the nights Akihito is dragged away from one of his more dangerous stakeouts. They would normally berate each other, following the same old script almost and Asami would normally give in - spoiling him, taking him to bed to subject Akihito to the mans own particular brand of punishment, all night long.

But maybe that's it.

Akihito's breath hitches as he raises his head, nose only just catching now the strong, stale smell of whiskey lingering in the apartment, the photographer not sure just how long he had sat there thinking for, while the brown liquid sets into the floorboards leaving a sticky mess. He realises, reluctantly that the inevitable may have finally happened, that after all this time of the same old, the same old arguments and the same old situation. Of course Asami must have got bored with him.

He heaves a huge trembling breath, trying not to let it turn into a litany of tears and sobs and he scrubs his face with his hands. He had thought Asami was going to hit him, choke him. Some action manifesting from the anger that had so obviously been there and he shudders, heaving his surprisingly weak body up off the floor, limbs trembling violently due to the adrenaline and shock, his head pounding so loudly in his chest, hearing it in his ears. He prays Asami doesn't come out of the study, not sure how he should act, or whether he should even still be here after that but he goes to the kitchen. Collecting a brush, dustpan, cloth and a large bowl of water so he can clean up the mess. His blurred vision resolutely ignored as he sets about his task so he can go to settle in his own and up until now disused room for a long, sleepless night.

Asami looks up from the papers he's been trying to read for the last thirty minutes or so, the sound of quiet activity in the hall drawing his attention now he can finally hear again. The third of a bottle of Whiskey helping a lot with that. He places the paper down and gets up from the desk, silently crossing the room and loitering by the door, hearing the obvious sweeping of glass punctuated by the odd sob now and again. For a split second he debates throwing open the door, taking Akihito is his arms and kissing him until he's crying for a different reason, but then he remembers why he's crying, why Asami had lost it. He remembers how tired he is. Of everything.

He drops his hand again, turning back to the desk to pour another drink and to get back to his papers. Settling in for a long and sleepless night.

**}xXx{**

It's eleven am the next day when Akihito finally dares to leave his bedroom, his room being near enough to Asami's for him to have heard that the man didn't go to bed last night and that he only came out of the study to have a shower and get changed before leaving for work this morning. Akihito hadn't slept, instead choosing to pack some of his belongings and clothes to go and stay at Koh's for a while. Until he can get the rest of his things. Not so stupid to think that Asami is likely to change his mind overnight.

He casts a sad look at Asami's bedroom door as he passes, holding his rucksack strap tightly as to distract himself from the tightening in his throat, the ache in his chest where purpling bruises are already forming. Akihito leaves the apartment, trying not to look back.

That day is draining for the both of them, Mitarai telling Akihito that he looks like shit whilst Kirishima tries to forcefully shove a thermometer into Asami's mouth as he sits at his desk. Both men insist they're fine, both shrugging it off and putting in down to tiredness and both men are reluctant to talk about what actually happened. Like that will somehow confirm the harsh reality of it. That it could be the end of them.

Akihito takes a job that night, happy to spend as less time as possible at Koh's who had been most interested in why this rich chick wasn't putting Akihito up any longer, asking him countless questions when his friend had tried to just play it off again. The job's a hot club opening, Bohemian. The spot having nothing (thankfully) to do with Asami or with criminals, period and it could even be classed as a more sensible, safe job. Maybe even a little boring. Ha, he thinks. The most dangerous people attending tonight will be Jpop and Jrock icons and Akihito is pretty sure the most dangerous thing about them are their good looks.

Akihito is asked to attend, the strict no camera policy at the club totally ruling out most of the papers' photographers but the boy got skills, the ideal candidate to get a camera in there without anyone noticing. The rest of the press will be outside.

It's a relief, getting a relatively simple job - in a club of all places. It should allow him to take his mind of a certain man - a certain high profile club owner who yes would have no logical reason to be anywhere near the place he's going to tonight. Asami not one to grace such frivolous, dime a dozen clubs with his presence and he leaves work smiling slightly. Maybe a night out will do him good after all.

Meanwhile at Sion it's the usual, Kirishima rattling on, listing figures, statistics and reeling off name after name of potential business, marriage and appearance proposals but he finds himself listening with only half an ear. Nothing catching his attention in particular until Kirishima mentions the new club in Shibuya everyone's been raving about. Bohemian. The place a supposed haven for the young and daring, the hottest young starlets and their opening is tonight.

The man enquires into the particulars listed with the invitation, the place having a strict no camera policy so he know's Akihito won't be there. Ha. Why would he bother, the job would be considered too boring, too safe for him. Too normal. The man takes a moment, finding himself breathing a little easier as he thinks that, yes. Maybe he should stop being so accommodating to a certain stubborn brats selfish ways, maybe it's time to get back to how he used to be. Before Akihito. Before he had become so whipped.

He finds himself finishing his pile of documents with a little more enthusiasm than he had this morning, leaving work with a little smile on his face and thinking that maybe, a night out will do him good, after all.

**}xXx{**

Later on, he goes home to shower and change, not letting himself note that Akihito isn't home yet and that the place is dark, cold. That there's no dinner on the table even if it is still early yet, nine thirty, not that it matters. He tells himself this even as his eyes wonder over the vast, empty space. It's not as if he intends to come home later anyway and the little shit is probably off causing havoc for someone else.

He stops himself from tracing the outline of the phone, laying in his pocket.

The man showers quickly and picks out a indigo blue pair of denim jeans, almost black but still just the right colour to showcase his hard thigh muscles, the slight bulge at the fly. His sculpted ass. With it goes a simple black shirt, rolled up at the elbows and the top most buttons undone which showcase the curve of his abs perfectly. Perfect enough to drive anybody, man or woman. Wild. He doesn't put much thought into what he wears, the man perfectly aware of the effect he has on people, most people. Most people that wouldn't ever even dare dream of defying him, tossing his heart around like this. He shakes his head, damning himself for his weakness, that his thoughts keep straying back to this foolish child, his ungrateful lover, ungrateful whatever he is. He tries not to look around his bedroom, proof of the boys existence everywhere.

He consciously leaves his phone on the nightstand after sending a message to call the car around, he won't think about him, the man decides. Not tonight. He finishes his look with a pair of dark brown brogues from the closet. Sweeping off out of the penthouse and down to the limo. He's got a busy night ahead after all.

At the club and Akihito, in stealth mode. Flashes a toothy grin as he slips into the building via fire escape after the barman, waiting until he had slung the trash in the dumpster to make his move and follow him with a small camera concealed in his palm which he can easily pass off as a phone if questioned inside. He follows the thrum of the bass as he makes his way down the halls to the main floor, the vast interior taking his breath away with its many levels all centred around a low, central light up dance floor and topped off with a huge domelike chandelier. It's so classy, so elegant that Akihito feels a pang in his chest, he could easily see Asami in a place like this. It makes him feel a little regretful that they never once even went on a proper date, something normal. That Asami is too sick of him already for anything like that to even happen in the future. Either.

He sighs, going to the bar to get a couple of beers, maybe alcohol will get him through tonight. It's going to be a busy one after all.

The limo pulls up to the club, bursts of garishly flashing lights and nauseatingly excited squeals greet Asami as he exits the sleek car, the man damning himself once more when he can't help but check amongst the media section stationed at the red carpet for a familiar tuft of blond hair. Relieved when he doesn't spot it. The guilt he was starting to feel, assuaged somehow. Not that he needs to explain himself, it's not like Akihito never does.

So he graces the red carpet with his presence, just to get to the door and be waved in by the bouncers, naturally the crowd going wild, as it were. Women screaming, the cameras flashing, men gaping at him like fish out of water and he laps it up. A different kind of awe this time instead of the usual intimidated, plea ridden eyes. Not the haunted eyes that are wide with terror right before he snuffs out that persons life, no this. Is adoration. And he's been without it for long enough.

He means, not that he cares.

He enters the booming club with his two best men in tow, ordering them to the bar to 'relax' as he journeys on alone and looks on with interest at the many young starlets, models, all of which look at him when he catches their eye - lust and envy but those, those he can deal with. Those are what he knows and tonight, he feels like it's what he needs.

He grabs a whisky on the rocks from the bar, leaning back against it as if to showcase himself as the music surges and the colourful lights pulse but no, he knows it's just a matter of time before they all flock to him anyway. Like they always do. He tries to wager with himself, as he casts a casual glance around whether it'll be male or female. Or both. Already working his head around what hotel he'd take them back to, not one that he's taken that ungrateful little -

No, no more thoughts about him.

The man glances round, looking for a distraction and one comes in the shape of a woman, not a girl. Around thirty or so if Asami had to guess. But attractive enough. Long brunette hair swept behind her, sharp eyes and plump lips pulled into a red glossy pout. A too low dress. Her breasts pressed together and up, milky white. Her chest on show from the way she's sat, slumped slightly at the bar and staring at her drink with obvious irritation and disappointment. It only takes him a second to read her.

"He hasn't shown, hm?"

The man queries as he sets down his drink next to hers, signalling to the barman for two more before turning his attention back. The woman regarding him now with interest, narrowed eyes that glint with suspicion. Not the brilliant almond shaped hazel ones, like he's used to but green, sharp. He shuts down that trail of thought immediately.

"Hmmm. I take it the drinks on you, Mr…?"

"Asami."

"Right. Well, with all due respect, Asami. I didn't ask for your attention, or pity - so why don't you do us both a favour and leave me alone?"

There's silence between them a while and she gets curious, wondering is she's pissed him off enough yet to leave and she looks up, startled to see that guy is actually laughing at her. Well, not actually laughing. But the bastards eyes certainly are. She takes a long sip of the new drink and sets it down, debating her next move with this one. He seems cocky, like bad news but fuck. He's hot and he's interested and after the night she's had. Wouldn't a bit of fun with someone like this be just what she needs?

He reads her like a book, a children's book with letters in huge print and few words. He lowers his voice for her, it rumbling and washing over her seductively.

"Can I ask your name? I want to know what I should be calling out later tonight."

It's a line and he knows it, knowing also that some cheap pick up wouldn't have this affect on some people but he sees for her its done the trick. Pupils dilating, lips parting on a small inhale. The notion of him fucking her already envisioned in that lustful little brain of hers. it's easy, as usual. Too easy but he finds tonight. Tonight he'll settle for that. He shouldn't have to work so hard to pander to the needs of one stupid -

Stop.

Stop it.

A light laughter reaches his ears and it shakes him back to the here and now as he unconsciously holds the whisky tumbler in a white knuckle grip, taking a breath and letting go in more ways than one. He doesn't want to think about it, what to do with the boy. Whether he should be doing this or not, or why. Why he's even questioning himself on it when, why should he? He downs the rest of his whisky and signals for another, leaning again to the woman as she shakes he head in amusement, too enchanted, too curious and wanting more.

"God you're cheesy, ha. I'm Mari. It's nice to meet you Asami."

He smiles, new drink in hand which he downs as quickly as the last, deciding that he should have thought of this sooner. It's warming him nicely, the liquor. The thought of a tight whole to fuck into later man or woman, just not that man. Not that young and hopelessly endearing man.

He slides his glass absently across the bar top, flawlessly reaching over to take her hand in his. Red nails, perfectly painted and runs a thumb along her palm, tracing soothing circles as he whispers in her ear.

"What do you want, Mari? Tell me…"

She bites her rouged lip at the tone of his voice, imagining it later as he tells her all those filthy things she wants to hear. Can she? Though she already knows the answer. If she's honest with herself she's been aching, wide open for him since she first heard his voice, since she smelt his cologne. Saw those molten eyes. She draws a heavy breath, having to raise herself up off her bar stool a little as she fists the front of his shirt lightly, leaning up to whisper against his neck. Grazing his earlobe with her teeth. She swallows thickly, not able to hide her excitement any longer.

"Hmm, I think I should get to sample the merchandise first, before I tell you anything. Give you anything. Don't you?"

He smiles at that, wickedly. Gripping her waist and bringing his head down, lips only millimetres apart. He swears he hears her whimper as he presses a hard thigh between her legs.

"Oho, you want it here, where? In a dark corner, the bathroom perhaps?"

"No, dance floor. I want you, to move with me. Then we'll take this somewhere better."

The man doesn't even let her finish her drink before he's steering her to the dance floor, hands on her hips and whispering in her ear all the dirty things they're going to do later. He feels lighter somehow, freer, like he used to, only a slither left of that annoying, constant nagging ache left lurking somewhere in the back of his mind. The one he knows can be dulled by more alcohol.

They reach a relatively clear section of the dance floor, Asami paying no mind to his men at the edge of the room as he pulls Mari in close, her back to him, moving her hips with his to the music flawlessly, sensually. Her chiffon dress brushing her thighs teasingly as he holds her there, the bulge in his jeans moving against her and Mari can't help it as she presses back into him, head falling back onto his shoulder. Her arms sliding up to rest on his shoulder, the other running fingers through his hair. The pair are perfectly effortless, this man is perfectly effortless. Merely swaying from foot to foot and driving Mari's heart into frenzy but he still has the nerve to look bored. She wants to make him lose that control.

Turning around, she drags her teeth over his bottom lip in invitation, one that dares him to just do what he will, tease her, touch her, get her wet and wanting. She runs her hands over his chest, biting her own lip now and gasping when he grabs her ass, smirking. Pressing their hips together laughing when she moans. Leaning in for a kiss.

A huge yawn goes unheard as an exhausted Akihito finally finishes his rounds of all the upper levels, leaving the bottom until last so he can just take the rest of the photos needed and go. All the rich, pretty people reminding him too much of the people who all hang around and cling to Asami shamelessly. Thinking that maybe he was one of them too.

He swings by one of the bars dotted around the huge dance floor, yet another beer being downed and he really hopes all the drinking he's done tonight hasn't dulled his photography skills any, though strangely feeling that he doesn't really care enough to stop. He's knows he's not going home, not to the penthouse, not that Asami will care. But he's not going home tomorrow, or the next day - or ever again and that thought makes his chest tighten, damning himself with a shake of the head and a few more mouthfuls of beer. He swore he wouldn't think about him tonight.

He finishes his third or forth beer, deciding to work his way once around the main room to catch each group of the glittering elite though not caring much for any of them, just needing this pay check so he can afford to rent a new apartment as soon as possible. He plasters on a smile and works his magic, it being easy enough to do as he recognises most of the young faces, though thankfully not running into Ai, the young starlet not being the most subtle of people after all so she'd probably completely blow his cover.

"Shit-sorry-"

"Sorry-"

Akihito glances behind him at the tall stranger who had just backed into him at the edge of the dance floor, his breath catching a little upon seeing the guy, he's not just tall - he's fucking huge. Built. He's a foreign guy, American judging by the accent and with model good looks of course, the guy actually having been invited here - unlike Akihito who had trespassed through the back door.

"Hey, you're cute - model?"

The tall blonde looks down to Akihito with a small smile, watching the surprised blush spread over his cheeks obviously answering the question for him. He denies it, the guy laughing and saying Akihito's too short for it anyway which makes him exclaim in mock outrage - yeah he's short, he's reminded just how small he is anytime he's next to or being fucked by that particular man. The one he's not supposed to be thinking about. He smiles back up at the model, who introduces himself as Tyler Jordan who Akihito's never heard of but he's the hottest up and coming model out of the U.S. They laugh and chat and Tyler whips out his phone as they continue to shuffle about here and there out of people's way, ending up on a quiet corner of the dance floor. Tyler asks him to dance as he slides closer, not hiding his interest and he asks for Akihito's number - hoping to see this adorable Japanese guy again while he's here in Tokyo for the week. To uh, language exchange amongst other, more pleasurable things.

Akihito stutters, not sure how far he's willing to go to forget about Asami, not sure how much of this would count as betrayal. To dance with this guy, to give him his cell number, his email, to see him again when his intentions are all too clear. He feels guilty even just contemplating it.

He knows it might all be pointless anyway, if Asami has indeed changed his mind about the two of them but then again, if he hasn't and if Akihito did do this, any of this. Would it only ruin them further?

No, he decides - it's not something he can do. Even if it is over.

He still can't help but hope that Asami care for him after all, because he so wants him to care.

So he smiles awkwardly when he sees the inquisitive look on Tyler's face as he watches the boy, rubbing his neck in embarrassment when he politely declines both the dance and swapping numbers, not knowing what would happen is Asami still had his goon watching Akihito tonight or whether he'd spot the models texts on his phone in the future. He really doesn't want to provoke the man more than he seems to have already so Tyler puts his phone away, regarding Akihito with yes a little bit of disappointment. It's not often he gets turned down. Ever.

"S-sorry, It's uh, it's kinda' complicated but I-…"

He's laughing and blushing in embarrassment when something stupid to the side of the tall model catches his eye and the words die on his lips, which is even more stupid because it can't be. Couldn't be. He must have had too much to drink after all, that and the fact he's been thinking of the man all night. That he thinks he sees him.

Asami.

Akihito can't help but admire the way the man looks, kissing the woman, the same way Asami would kiss him, it's weird. His heart aching for the man as he thinks about his soft, warm lips, missing them. Not paying attention at all to his companion who's casually sliding a hand onto his shoulder, attempting to ask Akihito for just the one little, harmless dance but Akihito is awestruck, the man on the dimly lit dance floor in dark jeans and a black shirt the exact copy of Asami, even the way his head, his hands and hips seem to be moving as he caresses and holds the woman. His head pulling back and with it, his tongue, his smirking mouth. Giving Akihito a perfect view of his face.

Asami.

God.

Something breaks, shatters in Akihito and he pushes his shocked companion away blindly, stumbling back through the crowd and running for the nearest anything. Toilet, cupboard, exit. People push him and shout but he doesn't hear it over the beat of the music, over his static in his ears and the erratic beating of his heart, he just knows he needs to get away. Pure panic and shock and fuck. Fuck Asami. Fuck him. He finally breaks through the wall of people at the edge of the dance floor. Running clear past the bar that sits just at the entrance, still jostling people out of the way unceremoniously in his haste and leaving two suited men to look after him with concern.

"...Fuck." Suoh says.

"Fuck..." Kirishima replies.

He hurls himself into the nearest door, the mens toilets, not that Akihito notices. Far too busy rushing to the furthermost cubicle and locking himself within. Throwing himself down by the toilet, throwing his camera viciously to the side so he can clutch his hair, almost ripping it from the roots. Denying, shaking. Heart breaking to pieces.

Asami draws back from the kiss, laughing at the dazed, hungry look he's being given. This one at least honest about what he's making her feel. He leans forward again, whispering wickedly in her ear.

She nods, licking her lips. And he pulls her from the dance floor.

The club goers, regardless of their own social standing of course all shuffle easily out of Asami's way as the pair leave the floor, heading for the toilets by the exit before taking this thing to a hotel of Asami's choosing. A brief interlude perhaps. He passes his men at the bar, both of them looking rather depressed and he laughs at them, the two swapping an urgent look before Kirishima is cut off from what he's about to say by an impatient tug of Asami's arm, the man being lead into the mens toilets with a bark of laughter.

"...Fuck." Kirishima says

"Fuck…" Suoh replies.

They each take another hearty swig of their club sodas. It's going to be a long night.

The door creaks to a close behind them leaving the worst of the noise behind, Mari casting her eyes around and seeing no one at the urinals so she shoves the nearest of the two cubicle doors open, shoving a laughing Asami in before going in herself and locking the door. Pushing Asami to the left so she can unzip his trousers, sinking to her knees to take him in her mouth and even soft his size is too much, she rolls the tip around her tongue and he looks down at her, making her moan. His hands held loosely at his sides.

There's noise. Close by. Akihito hears as someone, no some people, come into the toilets, not being able to register the giggling, the rattling and rustling before the unmistakable sound of the cubicle door being locked and he fists his hair tighter, wishing these people would go away but the noise only increases. Laughter, warm and rich and a slide of a zip. Then a keening moan.

Asami watches those eager rouge lips on his dick, his own top lip turning up in a small snarl at the sight, the sight of the mouth that he knows should be someone else's. The mouth that always seeks to give him so much pleasure.

His brows knot together and he gives a hard thrust to the back of her throat to fight it, it making her gag but himself growing no harder with the effort. Only growing more frustrated that it's hazel, it should be hazel that he's seeing. Not this. Not this person. She moans again as she chokes herself on his cock, reaching a hand down under her dress, teasing herself whilst looking through clouded, lustful eyes up at his half wild gaze. His angry, scorching eyes.

He puts a hand to her forehead and draws her off him, having no idea what he's even doing anymore. What he had ever wanted to achieve with this.

"Mari."

He shakes his head imperceptibly and closes his eyes as she stares up at him, confused. He sighs, knowing what he needs to do.

Akihito, unable to block it out hears a voice, hears a woman's name, called softly by that voice that he would recognise anywhere. That's engraved onto his heart and soul. He numbly lets his hands slide down from his head when he hears the following sigh, Asami. Asami's breath as the woman no doubt pleasures him like he would and his face folds up under the weight of hurt and blind rage, seeing nothing but red and only hearing that fucking bastard breathe he lashes out, kicking the cubicle wall with the sole of his sneakers like he wishes it was Asami himself, like it was really that mother fucker stood not even a foot away and getting - getting touched by someone else.

He kicks, kicks, keeps kicking the cubicle wall until it starts to dent, until the toilet roll holder falls apart and small rectangular sheets of tissue scatter all over his legs, until his ankles are screaming in agony but even then he doesn't stop. He just keeps kicking the shit out of it, hoping, wishing his legs would burst straight clear into the other side to cause Asami even a fraction of the pain that's coursing through him right now.

Sweat pools at his temples, furious tears spill from his eyes but he keeps kicking, lashing out, pummelling as his fists thump the floor and the wall he's leaning against. The photographer crying out with every blow, swearing and calling Asami's name so brokenly. The sound of it breaking Asami's heart.

His own heart already in pieces out there on the dance floor.

When the first sudden blow had rocked the cubicle Asami had pushed the woman's head clean away, already zipping up while his sharp senses assessed every possible scenario before they were once again rocked with a second, a third, an endless torrent of furious blows to the cubicle wall, making it dip a little more each time and give in a little more with every hit. He darts around and listens out, quite frankly flummoxed at this turn of events but then he hears it, the most heart wrenching scream he's ever heard. One he'd recognise anywhere, just like that time on the casino ship.

"ASAMI!"

And yet the blows continue to rain furiously upon the walls, rocking them and Asami unlocks the door nearly taking a bewildered and a little bit terrified Mari with it, the woman having no idea what's happening what with the sudden commotion and the animalistic noises coming from the next cubicle along. She had heard the mans name, Asami. Being called. Is it that the man does this a little too often? Has he a string of heartbroken one night stands littered across the city?

Well.

She arranges her panties back in place, wiping the saliva from her lips so she can reapply her lipstick. No use in looking like she just (tried) to blow somebody.

"Akihito? Akihito come out of there-"

Asami's hands clench on the door frame, he can't bust the fucking thing open because he'll hurt the boy in the process but he can't reach him, can't get to him and Akihito can't hear him because he's still kicking, still screaming and with time they are only growing in both pitch and persistence.

"Mother-fuck-! -You! - Fuck!- I fuck-hate you! Gh -!"

Someone grabs at Asami's arm and he snarls, whipping around, eyes wild as he orders the woman to get out. This person's existence having fallen away completely in the face of Akihito's wrath and pain.

"B-but, what's-is he alri-!"

"Get out!"

Taken aback and somewhat frightened at the intimidating mans sudden change she leaves the room, bumping into the two suited men from earlier as soon as she gets back into the dark hall where they had been keeping watch for their boss, having some small idea of what's probably happening inside. Kirishima gives her a small bow, informing her that there's a prepaid cab waiting for her outside to take her anywhere she wishes to go, should she so want and she shakily thanks them and all but runs out of the club, a little bewildered and still at an utter loss as to what just happened. Never has a night done from heaven to hell so fast before.

Inside, Asami's also at a loss, words not easy in coming for once as he maintains a tight grip on either side of the cubicle door frame, Akihito still kicking and screaming though his voice has lost much of it's power, growing hoarse and broken as sobs threaten to take over but he still fights. Even when his kicks slow, becoming irregular and landing with less power behind them as his ankles grow more sore and more swollen. But his determination is still strong. Who knows what will happen if he stops, who knows what he'll hear?

His teeth grit in pain and he clutches a hand over his eyes, trying hard to hold on to that righteous anger, trying not to let the humiliation and heartbreak sink in. The hurt. He sobs, once, feet pausing in their assault while his chest heaves up and down, a litany of fuck, fuck, god, no, fuck spilling from his lips as he wishes he could just go back, just go back in time to early last night when his life wasn't a fucking mess. To when he loved Asami, to always wondering whether Asami loves him. But now it's obvious he doesn't, how could he? Not after this.

He doubles over in the small cubicle, not minding the piss and alcohol all over the floor, the toilet tissue covering his stomach like a make-shift blanket. He rips at his hair, body shaking with the soul shredding scream that wants to break out of him.

Asami shakes as he stands on the other side of that door, his mouth moves, no words though as he fully comprehends the hurt in each tiny, broken sound. Each rasped breath. He had never wanted this for the boy. Had never wanted it for them so what, what the fuck had he been been thinking? What were those debilitating, frustrating emotions that had driven him to this like it had all made sense? Why did he think Akihito doesn't care?

"Akihito."

He finds his throat tight and he can't continue for some reason, there being something wrong with this whole situation. This scene. What was his point again, what was Asami's aim tonight? Not even he knows anymore, he just knows it wasn't this. He has no idea what to do with this. He has never had to deal with his own feelings before and he feels, not right. About doing this to Akihito.

So after a time and still lost for words he backs away from the door, turning and leaving the bathroom and greeting his two men in the noisy corridor. Both of them silent in understanding and he recovers a little, it being a little easier to think out here where there's noise and activity instead of the deathly silence in there, the stark florescent lighting and he scrubs his face in frustration.

"Asami-sama, I sent your, companion home in a car, I hope I wasn't overstepping-"

The man shakes his head, dismissing his secretaries worry and the slight dig at his behaviour tonight. He'd been on edge all day and his men had noticed. Though out of respect not calling him up on it, on his peculiar plans for tonight, to head out to a new and unknown club unaccompanied. Knowing full well what it means. Both had seen the warning signs. Powerless to change the mans mind. Not their place to question his personal life.

He takes a deep breath when he realises Akihito probably won't be coming out of the bathroom anytime soon, until he knows Asami's gone so he straightens up and enters the eerily silent room, faint sound of a rhythmic beat, the creaking door and his steady footsteps the only noise as he advances further over the cold sandstone tiles, squatting down in front of Akihito's door and reaching a hand flat under it with a gentle 'Akihito' rather foolishly, because Akihito slams down on it hard with a fist soon after.

Fuck

Asami winces at the impact but keeps his hand there, on the floor and in all the alcohol and piss that Akihito is also undoubtedly sat in. He tries saying his name again, it being met with the same reaction as the first time as he curses under his breath, wanting to get his boy to at least talk to him. But, he reassures himself, at least he's getting some reaction. And that's a start.

"Akihito, let me talk you you. Open the door."

"No, fucking-way."

Akihito gets that out somehow through tightly clenched teeth, so much left unsaid and the photographer doesn't dare to say anymore either lest he let a whole torrent of curses and abuse escape, the strangled words each like daggers to Asami anyway. How had this whole thing gotten so out of hand? Why should he even explain himself, even try? But he relents, the answer blatantly obvious with each of Akihito's quiet, hitched breaths. How he had raged war against the cubicle wall earlier. Asami had just been sick, unsure and constantly thrown by Akihito's actions, outside of the bedroom. Always spitting, always contradicting - until his body gave into pleasure. But that meant there was never truth between them, only distraction. Their bodies honest yes but each never able to face just what they were, what Asami hopes they still are. What they can be.

But he just had to fuck it up.

He brings his head to the door, his forehead resting there as he takes a breath, two more. He still doesn't know, for all his limitless business prowess or exceptional I.Q, he still doesn't know what to say. But he knows what he can do. He takes another fortifying breath, getting into what is perhaps a little less than dignified position for someone of his calibre but he reaches his hand further under the door, silently and eventuality, after swiping through all the liquid and debris he reaches his target. Seizing Akihito's own, colder hand before he can pull it away. Holding it tight and trying so hard to convey what his mouth cannot.

I'm sorry. I love you. I'm sorry.

"Asami let-let go-!"

The boy fights, trying to yank his hand free of the gentle yet unyielding grip though his strength is so diminished, the fight in him draining upon contact with that warm hand, those squeezing fingers and a fist squeezes his heart, robbing him of breath as all of the anger he had felt before it gives way completely to the full force of betrayal, the wealth of hurt that's making him hold that hand just as tightly back. Hiding his eyes in shame as he lets this man, this betrayer. See everything. Every humiliating emotion that he feels.

They stay like that for some time, until Akihito is all cried out and until Asami's knees are bruised to the bone having been knelt on the tiles for so long but he dares to talk again, the music still humming and pounding in the background. He opens his mouth, stopping, closing it before trying again, swallowing. The man being an expert in negotiations in any variety of languages but with this and with Akihito, with emotions. He has to tread carefully.

"Akihito, there's a lot I want to say. That we have to talk about…"

The large hand gives another small squeeze and Akihito listens on, leaning against the wall, numb. one hand laying palm up at his side and the other, still in Asami's. His legs are sprawled before him, aching. Swollen like they're badly bruised, like his chest but he finds he doesn't care. He blinks slowly as the man's words wash over him. So tired.

"There's a lot that needs to change. That we have to change. But first we should go home together...Can you do that? Can you open the door for me?"

He rubs the smaller hand in his, a reassuring warmth in return felt through his fingers. He knows he wants this now, he knows he wants this to work, knowing how it can work. If only he'll hand over something in return.

"Akihito I."

He pauses, knowing it shouldn't be this hard. Knowing it won't be, not if for once they're both honest, if they both finally admit they're both equally as whipped. Each useless without the other.

"I love you."

There's a reaction, a small jerk of the boy's hand. Breath that's hitching and forced through nostrils the only sound echoing in the room as his lover processes the words. Their meaning and how the likes of them have never been uttered by the man probably ever before. It repairs some of what was broken, just a tiny piece but enough for Akihito to know that Asami is serious. That he feels remorse. That he had cared for Akihito all along after all and he feels like a fool. He feels like Asami's a fool. The two of them butting heads and avoiding the issue like they knew nothing else, which maybe they didn't. Could they now?

It's a long time coming, several more minutes of quiet sniffing before it comes, but it does and when it does, it takes Asami's breath away.

"I, I love you…too."

A silence, a small click of a door and Akihito allows himself to he pulled to Asami's chest as they sit on the floor in the bathroom, the man saying so much. Whispering to Akihito and knowing that there's so much more that they'll be talking about in the future now as he finally relents, quieting, quelling the raging sadist within him, the one that can only dominate. Possess. Giving himself over to a different force but by no means weaker and for the first time in his life submitting, allowing the whip, the chains to be used on him. Ones that will bind them together forever.

And fuck, he thinks. With a small smile. He is so whipped.

**}xXx{**

**Well, there we have it. There were a lot of inspirations for this fic. Again Sunflower1343's story 'Just Sex' (on LJ and Ao3) a song (that isn't actually a sad song, which is weird) and some random opinions that I've read in the fandom over the past couple of years. **

**I really hope you enjoyed it. (I'm thinking of a follow up where they go on a real 'first date' - I mean seriously, they are more like f*** buddies and that kind of makes me sad.) **

**Thanks for reading x**


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